


fire in the sky

by karnsteins



Series: cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run [1]
Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Cherry Valance, Alpha Dallas Winston, Alpha Darry Curtis, Alpha Steve Randle, Alpha Two-Bit Mathews, Alpha drop, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beta Johnny Cade, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Ages, Consensual Underage Sex, Everybody Lives, Feral Behavior, Feral Dallas Winston, Heats and Ruts, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, dynamic exploration, everyone but darry is a teen but tagging just to make sure everyone's aware, omega ponyboy curtis, omega sodapop curtis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27961355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karnsteins/pseuds/karnsteins
Summary: One week and absolutely everything had changed. One Soc with a command to give him a bath, and everything had spiraled out of control. Coming home wasn't exactly easy, and the rumble complicates it further when Dallas drags him up from the muddy ground, and drives him to the hospital, ranting at him the entire time about not being like Johnny about toughening up. He remembers feeling almost sick; so many alphas all around them, jacked up on adrenaline and pheromones. Ponyboy and Soda were the only omegas in the fight, as Dallas' anger gets worse, as his stress gets worse, he'd felt the bile in his throat mixing with the uncomfortable thought that Johnny was going to die. Johnnywoulddie.Except, of course, Johnny does not die. Neither does Dallas, and that sets up for a lot of changes for Ponyboy Curtis. Serves as the backstory forcause tramps like us, baby we were born to run.
Relationships: Ponyboy Curtis/Dallas Winston
Series: cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969333
Comments: 23
Kudos: 57





	1. the smell of smoke across the room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **please mind the tags**. everyone remains their canonical ages in this, and eventually, there will be sex at some point. this will be updated monthly, as it's a very long fic. sometimes bi-monthly if i feel as if i'm far enough ahead.

One week and absolutely everything had changed. One Soc with a command to give him a bath, and everything had spiraled out of control. Coming home wasn't exactly easy, and the rumble complicates it further when Dallas drags him up from the muddy ground, and drives him to the hospital, ranting at him the entire time about not being like Johnny about toughening up. He remembers feeling almost sick; so many alphas all around them, jacked up on adrenaline and pheromones. Ponyboy and Soda were the only omegas in the fight, as Dallas' anger gets worse, as his stress gets worse, he'd felt the bile in his throat mixing with the uncomfortable thought that Johnny was going to die. Johnny _would_ die. 

When the cop had found them, escorted them to the hospital, it was all Pony could do than to moan in pain. His head was swimming, his stomach was in knots and when Dallas grasps him by the waist to help him up, the cool touch against his warm skin made him shiver. Despite the wave of hostility coming off of him that seemed strangely more than before, it felt good. 

They made their way to the hospital, and Dallas had the switchblade out in his hand. Every breath he takes seems ragged, drawing Ponyboy closer to him as if he needed him there, as if he were to let go, things would spin more out of control than it already had.

"You don't," Ponyboy tastes blood in his mouth when he talks, wincing, "Don't need that." 

Dallas ignores him as the doors open, grip firm as iron on him, stumbling to the ward Johnny was in. The doctor standing there seems cool despite the way Dallas grips the knife, and his voice is just as calm, "Are you here for mister Cade?" 

"Yeah," Dallas grips the knife tighter, "We want—"

"His operation is over with," The doctor tilts his head, towards them, still cool, "He's not in anymore danger, thank your lucky stars. All that's left to do is let him rest and allow his body heal." Ponyboy sways beside Dallas, out of sheer _relief_ at the words. "I think that you two need more medical attention than he does right now." 

Dallas sneers in response, grip inexplicably tighter on Ponyboy's side, nails starting to dig themselves into his skin from the effort. "Nah, man. We can sit, wait." 

"Dal," Ponyboy's voice is thin even in his own ears, exhausted at another wave of pheromones hitting him, "I think—I think I'm—" he shudders, the feeling of burning, hot sick running up his throat. He gags with it, the taste, then retches onto the floor in a wet mess. Dallas can barely keep a grip on him as he goes onto his knees. It's as if the entire week has caught up with him all at once, body wrenching out the stress with the vomit, throat burning, his eyes going tight with tears as he did it.

Later, he'll remember Dallas' hands in his hair the most, the way he doesn't seem too far from him the rest of that night. How protective he is — how protective he's been for weeks now, ever since they'd gone to Buck's and he'd given Ponyboy his jacket. 

The rest of it becomes a blur in his head of the doctor helping him, Dallas snapping at the doctor as he does it. Going in and out of consciousness — bright lights above him, the feel of a pinch in his arm, his throat feeling sore — until he wakes up hours later, not at home but at Buck's place. 

He always knows it's Buck's place: the smell of sweat, stale beer taking up his senses in lieu of the terrible country music. This time, Dallas' scent is stronger than usual, letting him know he's in the narrow, small bed Dallas always has had. Groggily, body aching the whole time, he rolls over to see Dallas himself is sitting on the other side of the room, a bandage on his nose, arm draped in his waist, eyes shut. Unlike last night, that fever pitch hostility that was coming off of him after the rumble is gone. His hair seems messy still, his jean jacket thrown over him haphazardly like a blanket. Ponyboy can still feel the bumps and bruises when he sits up, and it feels difficult to clear his throat to try and speak.

Dallas looks towards him the minute he does it, awake and at the ready, eyes sharp when they land on Ponyboy. Ponyboy keeps his eyes focused on him as he crosses the room, unable to do more than that. He doesn't know what to do or say in that moment, sure that maybe Dallas' protective streak had run out now that they'd been tended to. Johnny was safe, and they were just—

"Scoot over," Dallas grouses, "Been sleeping over there the whole goddamn night." Ponyboy wants to give a smart answer about that, but his head hurts something awful. He scoots over ask asked, Dallas sinking into the bed with a sigh. "Already called your brothers, they know you're here with me. Doc said you had a shit time and seemed easier to take you here." 

"Thanks," Ponyboy croaks out, tired and still confused. He still feels like he might be running a slight fever, shivering when Dallas pulls the sheet up. "You sleep at all?" 

Dallas doesn't answer, reaching over to the side to pull a bottle of pills. "Doc says to take two, and you're gonna be out awhile." He all but shoves it into Ponyboy's hands, "Gonna have to take 'em dry." Ponyboy wants to push him on it, but the pain in his head tells him to shut up and take the pills. He swallows them dry, nasty, and settles into bed beside Dallas. 

He has questions. A lot of them, and yet the only thing he's able to slur out is, "Did you sleep?" 

Dallas sighs, his arm comes down above Ponyboy's head. "No."

"Oughta sleep, Dal," Ponyboy slurs out. Normally, he'd have left it alone, not asked again. He knows that being mouthy with Dallas can get him belted hard or shoved. It still had felt worth asking, for getting a real answer out of Dallas. He wants to dwell on it but can't as moment later, sleep settles on his shoulders, thick and heavy. It comes without dreams or nightmares. Just blankness.

The next time he wakes up, Ponyboy feels warm. There are no aches, no pains. For a moment, he lets his mind drift over, hazy and almost unreal in the bed, satisfied and detached from reality. He thinks about the taste of chocolate cake, about Darry and Soda. Coming too feels harder than usual and when he rolls over, the scent hits him. 

It comes quickly, as reality reasserts itself: he's still in Dallas' bed, but with leather jacket Dallas gave him draped over his shoulders. His scent isn't as hostile as it was before, it feels more like Dallas at his normal: aggressive, heady, and very, very there. The sleep fog is hard to think through; he can't remember when he'd gotten the jacket back again. He wriggles beneath it; some of it still smells uncomfortably like smoke, forcing him to be more alert. 

The memories, he shies away from. He should want to toss it, get it away, give it back. Even as he thinks about it though, the rest of him pushes back, not wanting to totally get rid of it, fingers clinging to it as he lifts his head sleepily. The jacket had been with him since Bob had died, since they'd run away, and parting with it, even now seemed…

Ponyboy doesn't want to complete the thought.

"Dally?" he calls out. there's no answer, and Ponyboy turns around, looking for a clock. There's none to greet him.

It figures that Dallas doesn't have a clock here, and if Ponyboy had to guess, it was a little past noon. He scrubs at his eyes, stomach contracting painfully in hunger. The hunger only brings out that he still feels groggy, a little warm and cool all at once, as if his body was battling a low level fever as he gets his bearings, moving carefully to not aggravate anymore wounds he has. 

There's an urge to smoke, but the smell coming off of the jacket has him reconsidering it the more and more he comes to full wakefulness. Instead, he turns around, looking for more blankets. Moving has him shivering; the room feels colder than it ought to, and there's not much to go along with the jacket. There's a flush of irritation: why couldn't his body just make up its mind?

Still, what little Dallas has (mostly shirts, a thin pair of blankets that had seen better days, and some sheets), he pulls into the bed, and as hungry as he is, he doesn't want to leave the room. He pulls them all to him, and settles back in the bed, seeking warmth. The medication still makes him feel sleepy, tired, and Ponyboy buries his nose against the sheets, inhaling carefully. The scents, the feelings it gives…

Something in him feels as if it's slotted comfortably into place. That protective little wave he got from Dallas comes back again, confusing him — why him? Why now?

Ponyboy bites his lip, brow furrowing. That feverish, tired feeling sweeps over him again, a ripple of hot and cold all at once, and his stomach feels like it's going to revolt from being so empty. 

The door opens — the smell of warm, hot food comes with it. There's no noise from the bar below, empty at this time of day. He peeks up from the bed in time to see Dallas walking to him, one hand full with a bag of take out food, the other putting his keys into his jeans. He doesn't look that much better than how Ponyboy feels, and yet when he catches Ponyboy's eyes he seems to toughen up a little as if he _needs_ to be. 

Ponyboy doesn't know how he feels about that. He does know that his stomach growls in the quiet, which is enough to make Dallas walk over to him, almost impatient. "Come on, when's the last time you ate?" 

"What day is it?" he sits up, but doesn't move from the bed the way Dallas clearly wants him to. It's not really logical; Dallas doesn't eat in here, that's clear with how small it is. Ponyboy doesn't want to move though, something in him feeling absolutely not pleased at the idea of leaving the bed or the room, as if doing so would be too dangerous now, too foreign. 

Which didn't even make sense. This was Dallas' room, he wasn't even supposed to be at Buck's. 

Dallas shoots him a confused look, "Sunday. Come on, I don't want syrup in my bed." 

Reluctantly, Ponyboy sits up, sets his feet on the ground. It feels so… tepid when he mumbles out, "I don't— I don't want to go down to the bar." No, he thinks, embarrassing is the better word here. He feels embarrassed to say that, as much as every part of him wants to, needs to stay here. Right here. "Can we stay here? Please?" 

He feels so small, so embarrassed to ask, expecting Dallas to make fun of him, to tell him he was being stupid. A coward, even. Not to have him pause, and say, "Sure. Just not on the bed." 

Ponyboy gives Dallas a small, relieved smile. Dallas seems to hesitate, and yet returns it. Ponyboy sits beside him on the floor of the small room, and when Dallas opens the plastic containers, Ponyboy could almost cry at the sight of the breakfast food in front of him. It wasn't bologna, and it wasn't chocolate cake — it was still good. Grits, scrambled eggs, sausage, the works. 

He thanks Dallas and begins to eat, feeling ravenous. 

The entire time, he doesn't notice how closely Dallas watches him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🤗 thank you for reading! like i said above, this will be updated monthly, as it's a very long fic. sometimes bi-monthly if i feel as if i'm far enough ahead. please comment, kudos, and holler at me over on tumblr @madeleinepryor


	2. i found my mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny is going to live. Johnny is going to be okay. Dallas knew that now, after the doctor had told them. He wasn't worried about him anymore. 
> 
> The worry he felt was for Ponyboy.

Johnny is going to live. Johnny is going to be okay. Dallas knew that now, after the doctor had told them. He wasn't worried about him anymore. 

The worry he felt was for Ponyboy. For all he had dragged Ponyboy to the hospital to see Johnny, terrified he was dying, he'd ignored signs. Ignored that Ponyboy was swaying on his feet, ignored that Ponyboy seemed to have lost more color and blood than normal after the rumble. 

For all he had done in that week to keep them from getting the chair for killing a fucking Soc, for all he had done to hide him from his own brothers, for all he had done in order to keep them all safe, Ponyboy had ended up sick with _him_. He had ended up throwing up with Dallas there, no one else. 

Logically, Dallas knows he couldn't have predicted any of this. He's been running on adrenaline, anger, not much sleep. The rumble had been everything he normally wanted, teeming with angry and violent alphas all at once, able to finally take out some of the constant anger he felt on them, able to exert some control over the anger he'd felt for the entire week over Johnny and Ponyboy's situation. He loved it. The violence, the anger, every flying fist, every swear, the taste of blood in his mouth, the feel of blood on his skin. He'd do it again and again, over and over. He'd keep doing it where he could.

Thing was, Ponyboy wasn't the same. It wasn't just down to him being an omega, either. He'd been the one living in a church for days, he'd been the one scared his best friend would get the chair, the one who'd been shoved beneath a fountain by some boozehound Soc who thought he was better than him. Dallas should have seen. He should have known, should have known better that when he got in the car, had looked truly _bad_ that he should have— should have—

Here and now, in his room, watching Ponyboy sleep off the treatments he'd gotten at the hospital, something in his brain knows that's not logical. How could he have known? How could Dallas been able to tell that Ponyboy was that bad off, that overwhelmed? 

They weren't that close. Or at least, he hadn't _thought_ they were until he felt the panic, had felt Ponyboy sway and then collapse forward, retching so hard that Dallas had felt sick on his own. He had been caring for them, protecting them before and now Johnny was fine but _not Ponyboy_ and it was his fault. It was his fault, and for the first time in his life, Dallas thinks that it's shame that's filling him as he watches Ponyboy sleep in his bed. He'd never had that before, the feeling of shame, anger at himself. 

How could he not notice? How could he let it get so bad that he had dragged Ponyboy to the hospital and not thought any further than checking up on Johnny? How could he have done it and not thought to get Ponyboy help before he'd thrown up? 

His teeth sink into his cheek, hard, punishing. Sleeping isn't an option now. Not until Ponyboy wakes up. Even the call to his brothers the night before had felt difficult, telling them that Pony was too injured to go home, that Dallas had him. 

Even _that_...

Dallas stops with that thought as he hears Ponyboy stir in the bed. From there… 

He's not sure what he's doing. He's never been able to stand sharing a bed with someone when he went to sleep, and here he was, getting right into bed with Ponyboy. It's a change he doesn't feel that he can accurately account for, yet he does it anyway, making sure to give Ponyboy the medications from the hospital, watching his face for any other sign that something is wrong, that anything is wrong. 

Logically, it's not his fault. 

Yet, as he begins to drift to sleep, he still feels as if it _is_. 

Getting up on Sunday, next to Ponyboy only makes the feeling as if things are his fault, that he's got to fix it even worse. Normally the bed's pretty cold, and yeah, he prefers to kick people out the very next morning. When he feels Ponyboy still there, some of the worry smooths out but not entirely. Maybe it's paranoia: Ponyboy feels warmer to the touch than Dallas thinks he should be when he presses a hand against his forehead in a gesture he's never had someone to do him before, yet had seen time and time again with others.

He's never been good at taking care of someone besides himself. Anxiety — a feeling he's almost _never_ had makes itself known for Dallas as he tries to decide what to do next. The doctor had said Ponyboy needed rest, food at the hospital and so did Dallas. He'd insisted he'd be fine because he wasn't the one who'd been half drowned and been sleeping in a damn church for a week. 

Dallas would always be fine. Ponyboy, on the other hand…

He finds himself changing his still blood stained shirt out for a clean one. Washing himself up quick, pulling some of the money he had and after stealing the keys, took the T-Bird from Buck once again. It wasn't like he'd notice how drunk he was at this time of the morning. Picking up breakfast enough for at least three people seemed the right way to approach it, getting just about everything available on the menu. 

The drive back is just as uneventful, and when Ponyboy fully sits up in the bed when he gets back, Dallas isn't sure why he feels so damn conflicted to see him there. Ponyboy still looks like hell — half of his face still swollen, looking pale, that bum haircut he had looking all the odder in the sunlight. The hair is so pale, it washes him out with it, causes the bruises to look all the starker against his skin, and Dallas moves quicker to give him the food he's gotten. 

He lets Ponyboy have the lion's share of food between them, keeping an eye on him the entire time as he eats, looking for any indication that he's feeling worse off than before, any other sign he could've missed from the night before. He's not sure what to suggest next; even eating seems to make Ponyboy tired, despite it all and Dallas still isn't that good at well. Any of this. 

Whatever "this" was. 

The instinct to tell Ponyboy to stay with him the rest of the day creeps up, and he pushes it back vehemently. "C'mon, let's get you home. I bet you'd rather get back to your bed than stay here." Dallas scoops up the last of the syrup with the last slice of waffle he has, watching as Ponyboy leans back, some of his color back. It's not enough, however, to make Dallas feel good when Ponyboy looks at him from the corner of his eye, much like he'd done last night. 

Something about the look feels different from usual. Something in Ponyboy's gaze has shifted in the way he regards Dallas. He grimaces, the tips of his ears getting red. "I… I'm tired. I don't want to go home." Ponyboy cringes as he says it, ears getting redder by the second. "I just… I mean I know I should? I just don't. want to." His hands twist nervously in his lap. "I—I should though." 

Dallas hesitates, not exactly comfortable with the idea. He'd seen the look on Darry and Sodapop's faces the week before. He'd never break down to them no matter what, and still, it felt sort of wrong to keep Ponyboy from them, to keep him here. Which led to a more nagging question of, "Not that I don't like the company or nothing, but why?" Leaning back against the bed, his hand dips down, offering Ponyboy the last bit of sausage left. 

"Thanks," Ponyboy takes it, chewing on it slowly, face getting that look Dallas has always seen on him when he's thinking about something: not really blank so much as momentarily absent of his own self, mind far away. It's a look that he's had to get used to over the years, and one Ponyboy didn't seem to know he made when he had to be deep in thought. He waits, taking a swig from the water he'd brought up. 

The minutes stretch between them. 

"I… I don't know," Ponyboy finally says, voice quiet, "I just want to stay here. I think… I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do when I get home after everything. I thought it'd be easy, after the rumble." He glances over to Dallas and then back at his hands, unable to keep his gaze on Dallas for too long. 

"Easy to go home?" Dallas doesn't quite follow the logic here, willing to wait Ponyboy out on it. The kid's smart enough, smarter than Dallas will be about stuff like this and if he needs to sound it out or whatever, Dallas will let him. 

Ponyboy makes a noise in the back of his throat, as if the gears were turning but not really giving him anything. "I… there's still a social worker. The— the trial, I guess." Dallas resists giving a snort at the last one — for all he cared, Bob Sheldon could stand to have been stabbed several times more and if the law really knew better, they'd be shaking Johnny's hand. "I don't know what we're gonna do and… I don't know if— if I can think about it now."

A hysterical edge tinges his last words in a way that sets Dallas' nerves on edge and instantly he finds himself responding, "Then don't, man. Stay here with me, cool off. I'll deal with your brothers." He stands up to get the pill bottle again, not wanting to look at Ponyboy as he continues, "You want the rest from it, you've still got the weekend and it's ain't like you're going back to school looking like this." He offers Ponyboy two more pills from the bottle. "Take it, get some rest. Don't worry about it."

The look on Ponyboy's face is… well. it's not really happy, really. It is, however, relieved, some of the tension leaving his face. Dallas feels better to see that. This whole damn day felt as if things were off kilter, and Dallas reaches over to ruffle the ugly looking blonde hair Ponyboy has now. "I'll be back." 

Pony swats at his hand, and Dallas doesn't move until he sees Ponyboy swallow down the pills and climbs back into the bed. He gathers the boxes up, throws them away. Ponyboy is asleep in a few minutes, and Dallas takes care to move the blankets up and over Ponyboy's shoulder, to cover his neck. 

His finger touches a bit of his neck as he does it. His skin is still a bit warm — but not enough to make Dallas feel bad about leaving him there. He's got a day ahead of him: telling Ponyboy's brothers he didn't want to come home yet the biggest thing and everything after that secondary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas! 🎄 a surprise update for you all. i hope everyone's having a great time and if not, i hope this makes things brighter. see you all back in january.


	3. my heart was clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not a surprise that Darry levels a squint at Dallas from the front porch when he explains himself.

It's not a surprise that Darry levels a squint at Dallas from the front porch when he explains himself. Dallas makes sure to say just out of arm's reach, cigarette in his mouth. It figures that out of everyone, Darry is the one who got hurt the least, with only a split lip to show for it. "I don't mind if he stays with you, so long as he doesn't mess around with any of Buck's other shit." 

Dallas grins back, rolling his shoulders. "He's doing more sleeping than anything else right now which is what the doctor ordered." He takes a drag from his cigarette, "And I'll keep an eye out on him, I swear. He's… I think his head's still kind of messed up from everything. Might just need a breather or something." 

Darry seems to consider his words. "Sounds okay. Might not be so bad and all," he sighs. "You doing okay yourself, Dally?"

"When am I not fine?" Dallas retorts, "The kid's got more to worry about than me. He mentioned all that trial shit." He doesn't really like thinking about that either, too familiar with the system in his own way, the tricks and turns waiting for them all. "Do we actually have to worry about it now? Shouldn't they just let them off, saving kids and all?" 

Darry looks older than he should in that moment, as he thinks. He and Dallas both know the system, they both know that not everything can really be accounted for, that there were always ways the system could operate to make things better or worse. Dallas inches closer then, and Darry does too, coming down the steps fully to meet him. "I don't know. The newspapers are all over the story about an omega greaser kid, making him to be a hero. But I don't know what the social worker is going to say or do. They're going to want to know how and why he got there." Darry pushes his hand through his hair, frustration evident. "We'll have surprise visits, the works. And they already didn't want to have him in my custody — now that he's presented, that he's in the paper it'll be much worse." 

He wishes he could be surprised. Dallas, unfortunately, is long past that. "So playing dirty. You got a plan?"

Darry's mouth twists. "So far? Not much, asides from getting the house clean and trying to get Pony caught up. Bob's parents…" Darry's expression turns stormy, unhappy. "They're pushing for court dates as soon as possible. They've got money, power to try and get that done and there's not much we can do. Lord knows the Cades ain't gonna help out Johnny with this." He and Dallas both have already had long conversations a time or two about that. "He's not gonna walk right after all of this at the very least, and his own mother—"

"—is a cunt," Two-Bit offers, loping towards them. He's still bruised up, limping a little, and Dallas nods to him automatically, giving a wolfish grin of approval. Darry won't call her anything more than a bitch, while that's been Two-Bit's preferred word for her for years. "I got a plan there already. I talked to my mom this morning," he eases besides Dallas, passing him the beer he's brought along, even though it's barely past noon. Dallas takes a swig of the cheap beer as Two-Bit continues, "She's never liked her, and it ain't gonna be easy with her money but she wants to take him in when he gets out. Katie can move into her room, easy and Johnny can move into my dad's old room." 

A grin spreads on Dallas' face, handing the beer back to Two-Bit. Darry looks surprised too, and then grins too. "Holy shit, Two-Bit. You already tell Johnny?" 

"Nah," Two-Bit takes another of the beer, sucking at his teeth, wiping at his mouth. "Figured I'd surprise him later today when I go see 'im. He don't need to go back to her or his father and… it's about time someone did something." 

There's no argument there. Only a feeling of relief, and as Darry questions Two-Bit more on it, Dallas considers the angle that they'll have to take for a damn trial. Ponyboy still doesn't seem to be in the best of shape still, but the pills were sure to work with the rest. 

He tells them both he's heading out, and once he gets into the T-Bird, Dallas takes off, wondering what else he had to do now that Darry was on the up and up. The Socs had ran last night and yeah that was great — it still didn't mean it was all that safe to walk the streets. 

That trial was coming up and no matter who hit who, the system wasn't the same as a meatheaded Soc by a long shot. 

Dallas taps the wheel of the car. Considers making the rounds to see other greasers, see what people are thinking, saying. The rest of him is tired, bruised and truth be told… 

He wanted to go back to Buck's. Slip into bed and get some sleep. His arm still hurt beneath the bandages, was starting to itch. He'd let Ponyboy be seen by the doctor, while he had continued on. 

A sigh leaves him, and he decides just one stop is ideal. It takes a few minutes to lift whatever he needs from the pharmacy and then he's back at Buck's. Ponyboy is still asleep, still a little warm, when he climbs into the bed. 

Sleep comes eventually, as it always does. He wakes up in a surprising fashion: Ponyboy nestled against his neck, Dallas' face tipped forward enough to press his nose into his hair. He inhales — Ponyboy smells so much different now that he's presented, and Dallas doesn't mind it, he finds. Sodapop always smelled oversweet to him, whereas Ponyboy lacks that cloying smell that so many omegas carry. His scent feels fresher, with just enough sweet scent to him that Dallas knows he's not a beta. He wraps an arm around Ponyboy's smaller form, and drifts back to sleep, relaxing into the bed, nose never leaving Ponyboy's hair. 

It doesn't occur to him that he shouldn't feel so comfortable like this or that simply inhaling Ponyboy's scent should make his nerves that much calmer. He accepts it at the outset and doesn't think much of it. 

It sets a pattern for the rest of the weekend they have together. Breakfast fit for three rather than two in the morning, going to bed soon after, and staying awake through some of the afternoon and some of the night. Dallas never takes a watchful eye off of Ponyboy in all that time. He always seems warmer to the touch in varying degrees for the rest of the days he has with Dallas, and always needs the sleep he gets. They both share the bed, with no complaints from either of them. Dallas takes to pulling Ponyboy against him, Ponyboy following, cleaving to his side just so. 

He doesn't tell Ponyboy much of the news; he seems foggy when Dallas talks to him, only able to follow through every so often with his thoughts or sentences, and he makes the decision to give Ponyboy half of the pills with how hard Ponyboy seems to get to sleep. The whole time, Ponyboy hardly leaves the room to do more than use the restroom or wash up, and Dallas doesn't initiate any sort of hard conversation between them. 

To him, it's obvious that Ponyboy needs the rest — and if he were being honest with himself, so did he. The week had passed by an anger, in anxiety, and it seemed to catch up all at once, pushing him down into a kind of tiredness that Dallas hadn't ever experienced before. He settles right back into the bed whenever Ponyboy does, gets the rest that he didn't get in that entire week of Johnny and Ponyboy being gone. He has no dreams, just comes back to the surface of wakefulness on and off. 

He's not much for the concept of being comfortable, except that _is_ what this feels like: being comfortable, here in bed with Ponyboy, able to actually rest without the fear of cops showing up, or being in a jail cell again or having to think about the next few days. The only thing he actually had to do was keep them both fed, give Ponyboy the medication and get right back into bed. 

It's only for a few days, anyway, he tells himself, as Ponyboy sighs beside him. He tells himself not to get used to it. His arm tightens around Ponyboy's waist anyway, even as the thought crosses his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys had a restful time! thanks for reading, please comment, kudos, come holler at me over on tumblr, i'm @madeleinepryor!


	4. i wasn't lookin' for a sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving the car meant things had to go forward.

Normally, Ponyboy would be fine with being back at home. He wanted to come back home so _badly_ when he'd been trapped in Windrixville. As Dallas drives up to his house, however, all that longing seems to disappear, replaced with the feeling of hesitation. The past few days had been good with Dallas, staying in his room, eating, not doing much besides resting. Dallas hadn't asked for any sort of hard conversation, hadn't wanted to go over anything from before. They'd just stayed there, not demanding much out of each other. 

As if the rest of him understood the importance of rest, there had been no dreams, no nightmares. The medication submerged Ponyboy in sleep enough to keep all of that at bay, and as he looks at his house, half squinting, he doesn't exactly know for sure that it would all come roaring back if he got out and got back in — 

— but he also knew that leaving the car meant things had to go forward. He had to confront the reality ahead of him and he didn't want to. 

"You getting out or what, kid?" Dallas nudges him from the front, eyes flicking towards Ponyboy. He's got a cigarette between his lips, "You still live here, don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess," Ponyboy mumbles, glancing towards the door. The thought of asking Dallas to take him back to Buck's feels irrationally urgent, and he clears his throat. "I... " his hand drifts to the door handle, and at the last moment, he glances at Dallas. "Can I keep your jacket?" 

Dallas looks almost as surprised as Ponyboy feels for asking, then he gives a shrug. "Sure, kid. Just make sure to wash that thing." Relief washes through Ponyboy, fingers finally able to open the door. "I'll see you guys later, alright? Here," he hands Ponyboy the bottle of medication, "Don't take too much." 

"I won't," he slips the bottle into his pocket, watches Dallas get the car into drive. He peels away, driving skills as reckless as they'd been days ago. 

Going up the steps, into the house feels better now if a little uncomfortable. His brothers are clearly anticipating a visit, with everything cleaned up, scrubbed a bit more than Ponyboy was used to. Everything was arranged just so, making the feeling all the more uncomfortably pointed. His shoulder itches, as if the burn there knows just how to make the situation worse. 

Ponyboy sets the medication in the cabinet, and with a hiss of pain, sets the jacket down in his room. The shower he takes is hot, if short, and still, he doesn't have much energy left after that. Now that he's not so isolated anymore, either, or weighed down by medication, he finds himself thinking over everything as he settled himself back into his bed with a muffled curse, wounds aggravated from the movement. 

Where was Johnny going to go after this, when he recovered? How were they going to get through a trial over all of this? What was the trial even going to be like? He'd only ever seen court cases carried out over television on Perry Mason episodes and he figured Dallas getting out on bail wasn't the same thing as a murder case. There was… Bob Sheldon was _dead_. Johnny had—

A coldness surges through him, palm digging against his eyes, breath starting to come up short as his memory surged upwards all at once, as everything started whirring up again. 

His eyes sting not with remorse for Bob, but for Johnny. Even with saving all those kids, he knew, he _knew_ that Johnny could still get the chair for it. Worse still, at the heart of it, Ponyboy didn't even blame Johnny for what he'd done. 

That night, a lot of things hadn't gone right. A lot of things had been fucked up and awful. The thing that always sticks out most though, is the fact that the Socs had looked at him with predatory eyes then, the fact they'd hissed out that they'd caught _a little omega_ , that they had so much fun _tracking_ him from the theater, to the park. 

He'd only presented six months before — two months after his own parents had died. It had been so embarrassing, so fearful to have done it. The only omegas he'd ever known were his father and Soda, and his father was dead. Soda had helped him through it — Pony had always, always assumed he'd present as alpha like everyone else. It made sense that Soda was an omega, he was like the ones in movies and television, gentle, funny, and sweet like his dad. Of course it would be him. 

Ponyboy, though? He had always thought he'd end up different, an alpha like Darry or his mother and he hadn't. The thought had never crossed his mind that he'd been omega, had never really been able to cope with the consequences of presenting this way. 

His body felt like it had committed its own intimate betrayal when he presented and now… now he was so sure that being an omega had made that entire night worse. He hadn't even told anyone about _all_ the threats coming off of Bob Sheldon and his friends, about what they'd do to an omega and a beta they'd tracked down in the middle of the night. How they had looked drunk and hungry, in a way that made Ponyboy's stomach turn with the vivid memory of it, the way his lip had pulled back, the hungry, mutinous look on their faces. 

He'd spat at them, defiant, and— and—

Ponyboy lets out a startled gasp, wet and uncomfortable. He doesn't know when trying to wipe at his eyes turned into his fingers gripping at his hair, or when his breathing became shallow and upset. He just knows that they did, that it's hard to keep the tears from surging in his eyes, hard to focus on anything else but the image of Bob, of the memory of that night washing all over him again.

Ponyboy tries and tries to get himself under control. He thinks it takes an hour, all told, to breathe correctly again, to wipe his eyes and find a cigarette. 

He decides that he'll take the full dose instead of a half one. Something in him simply knows that nightmares are waiting for him the moment he closes his eyes, even if he won't remember they're going to make him wake up heart racing, face stained with tears. That's the last thing he needs right now. 

At least, he's right about the medication. 

Slowly, he finds himself adjusting to the days home. Being back in a normal bed with Soda, him and Darry trying to get along and finding it easier to do so. Except not everything is exactly the same: the house is always so carefully clean, all of them well aware that a surprise visit could happen at the drop of a dime; they go and visit Johnny in turns and the visits aren't all that easy; the idea of going back to school feels harder the more Ponyboy recovers and even his recovery is tenuous. He feels some days as if he's running a low grade fever that won't quite leave, while some days he feels fine, able to fly down the road in a run. 

The medication he doesn't pull out again. Aspirin replaces it to get a nightmare-less sleep, but even that stops working as well as before. 

Two-Bit is the one who volunteers to pick up Ponyboy's school work on the days he doesn't go. Ponyboy, when not sleeping or going to see Johnny recover slowly, doesn't usually eavesdrop. Normally, he'd be bored, itching to go out — dread is settling in his stomach however day after day in one form or another whether it was the memories of Bob or Windrixville with the sound of the beam hitting Johnny or that pit of dread that had settled in him at the hospital that couldn't leave even with Johnny being well. 

He's awake, halfway paying attention to his book when he hears snatches of conversation from the living room. Darry must think he's asleep; his voice is low enough that Ponyboy can't hear his words. He can, however, hear Two-Bit's. "--dunno about him going back just yet. Those Soc's are mighty pissed at him. They can't get to Johnny, but I'll bet you the moment they see him, they'll pounce."

Ponyboy's stomach makes an uncomfortable flop — and the rest of him feels defiant too, fingers tightening on the book he has. Darry says something else, and Two-Bit puts the books down. Ponyboy wants to listen for more, holding his breath. They walk further away from the room, though, and all he's left with is that snatch of conversation. 

So many things flare in him all at once that he can't read the book in front of him clearly anymore. He thinks about Johnny not wanting the rumble to happen and it happening anyway; about what Randy had said to him before the rumble, the way his face looked in the car. They'd always be Socs, they'd always be Greasers. Nothing would change. 

The hope that there aren't places like that in the world for him, for his brothers seems to grow fainter and fainter. 

The week has Ponyboy busy on his feet, and he tries to turn his mind from it as much as he can. There's less time to consider Randy's words, to wrestle the imminent fear of going back to school when he tried to keep the house as clean as possible, to get back to the schoolwork he'd missed, and having to deal with the gang coming in and out. Sometimes it was obviously to check in on him, and that got on his nerves a little bit — sometimes, though, Ponyboy found that having company was better than being alone in the house, his nerves still a little fried. 

Too, he found that the longer the days waned on, the more he felt as if he was on the urge of being ill again, feeling overwarm during the day, fatigued at times. It usually passes, and while he never reaches for the bottle of medication, the aspirin is still ever present. 

The homework gets done in slow patches, mind wandering every now and then, sometimes finding that looking at it simply makes him unable to concentrate. There's worry there; he tries not to let Soda or Darry know about it, trying to keep the peace as the days go on. 

Even if he wants to argue, even if he wants to push back, there's a bigger fear that they're going to be pulled apart. Ponyboy doesn't want that to happen. Everything feels as if it's hanging by a thread, like the other shoe is going to drop, and all he can do is hold his breath until it happens, keeping on his toes for the worst. 

The shoe finally drops two weeks out, when he wakes to Soda shaking his shoulder frantically. Ponyboy takes a moment to blearily come to, squinting at his brother immediately recognizing that Soda was more put together than usual at this hour, his hair styled in an almost cornily nice way, eyes wide. 

Soda doesn't even have to say the words: the social worker is there for a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! you guys have a good one. comments, kudos, holler at me on tumblr over @madeleinepryor.


	5. my heart feels all the weight of all i don't know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The social worker is young, almost pretty with hair a burnished blonde and that's the first thing Ponyboy is thinking when he sees her.

The social worker is young, almost pretty with hair a burnished blonde and that's the first thing Ponyboy is thinking when he sees her. The other social worker had been an older woman, more grey haired and lined around the mouth, almost like a stern grandmother. She smiles as she talks to Darry quietly at the door, and Ponyboy is grateful that he has been making sure to clean around the house as much as possible in anticipation of her visit. 

Soda looks nervous as he messes with his hair again. That he _is_ nervous is wearing on Ponyboy's nerves in and of itself. Ponyboy had styled his hair quickly, less concerned with looking like a greaser than anything. His reflection in the mirror had seemed a little flushed in haste and he hoped that he was fine now, dressed in jeans and one of the better shirts from his closet as he and Soda sat nervously at the kitchen table. 

The social worker is standing still, with Darry at the door, voices quiet. Ponyboy keeps his voice low, "How long has she been here?"

"Half an hour," Soda mutters back, glancing from him to her, leg bouncing beneath the table, "Darry got me up soon as he saw her, wasn't expecting someone else. You think that's a good sign?" 

"Know bout as much as you," Pony glances up as the social worker lets out a bit of laughter, the sound just making him nervous all the more. "Is she—"

The door shuts. Both Darry and the social worker step further inside. Ponyboy knows that's their cue then; Soda's eyes flit nervously back to him, and the smile he offers is reassuring, warm. Ponyboy hopes his own warms Soda just as much, both of them standing up from the table as Darry walks in, the social worker at his shoulder. 

The social worker isn't a very tall woman, and the glasses she wears seem a little out of touch as she offers her hand, "Good morning, I'm Veronica Slater. I was just chatting with your brother, as I'm your new case worker." Soda shakes her hand first with a smile that's almost like his normal one. Ponyboy follows, finding her hand to be small in his. 

There's a smatter of nervousness as they arrange a way to sit at the kitchen table. Darry ends up standing up behind them, one hand resting reassuringly on Pony's shoulder for a moment, before he draws back to let them look at her. She has a notepad out and a pen already, and her smile isn't exactly something that Ponyboy wants to trust, as warm as it looks. "I have some notes from my predecessor about your situation. She's retired, which is why I'm taking over your case. I wasn't sure if they had informed you before, and I'm sorry that you were surprised when I showed up this morning." She clears her throat a little, brown eyes seeming to focus beneath the kitchen light. "Due to your pending legal situation," Ponyboy swears he can feel the other shoe drop directly into his stomach with her words, "I have to assess your current living situation, and give a recommendation going forward. I've already spoken to you, Darrel, with regards to your brothers but I want to speak to Ponyboy alone, first if you don't mind." 

Darry's hand circles Ponyboy's shoulder, squeezes. It doesn't help the panic he feels much — he glances towards Darry as he moves away, and it hurts for Ponyboy to remember that the last time he saw his brother in a button up shirt like this was their parent's funeral. "You can take as much time as you need, Miss Slater." Soda squeezes his other shoulder; his smile to Ponyboy is meant to feel reassuring. 

The worried look on Darry's face speaks much more. 

They're down the hall when Veronica pushes forward with, "Let me start by saying that I wish I could have met you in better circumstances, Ponyboy. I understand it's never a good thing to see a social worker, particularly after an event like the one you've just had."

There's a flush creeping up Ponyboy's neck. He's grateful his fingers are beneath the table, able to squeeze his thighs, help him to reply, "It wasn't our fault," he lets the words out before he can think them through, "We were chased. Johnny did it out of self defense." 

Veronica nods somberly, "I believe you. That part is not for me to give judgement on, that's for the courts. I'm more concerned with why you were out of the house that late at all. As I understand it, you're fourteen, and that was a very late time to be out, even for a weekend." The words are enough to make Ponyboy's thoughts move back to the night it happened, hands loosening. He brings them up in front of him, to keep them on the table, half afraid he'd bore holes into his thighs from the effort. "We've had a few conflicting accounts as to why you were out there and I want to hear what happened from you, if you please." 

_Why even say please?_ Ponyboy thinks sourly. He swallows, picks his words carefully. "I was out with friends that night. I got home late, and Darry and I— we yelled at each other. I got mad and went back out again." He's a good liar, he knows that, and hopes that it saves him in this moment. "I shouldn't have done it, it was over something stupid. Couldn't remember the time right." 

Her eyes seem magnified behind her glasses, humming softly. "Is that an argument you both have a lot? You forgetting the time?"

"Sometimes," there had to be a trick in there, that Ponyboy couldn't find. "Usually I remember with other friends. That night I just— we just forgot is all." He watches her face, and nothing there is conveyed, except that she was listening. "It was just the movies."

Just the movies. _Just_ the movies. 

Her pen scratches something on her notepad. He feels as if the flush is growing more and more across his body. "Darrel told me you presented as an omega about two months ago. How have you been doing with that?"

The flush gets worse, the warmth climbing up his body. Ponyboy remembers the Socs trailing after him, the way Bob had looked at him beneath the moonlight, the threats. "Sodapop's been helping me," it's the quickest deflect he can think of, eyes focusing on Veronica's face. "He's the only other omega I know." The sour, bitter feeling he carries at his own dynamic taints his words as he says it, and he hopes she doesn't pick up on it, hurrying on, "I've been okay." 

Veronica nods, pen scratching more. "I'm glad you have a brother who can relate to your experience, Ponyboy. I understand it might be hard with your environment, to have that dynamic in small supply." Her voice is gentle, and still Ponyboy wants to pick apart her words, figure out where the hitch is. It makes his heart race, unsure if he can trust her, feeling automatically defensive with her words. "I also see that you've skipped a grade; do you have any plans going forward?" 

That's… not something he anticipated. Ponyboy shrugs with one shoulder, suddenly off kilter. "I was… just planning on going to college. Maybe something in English is all, since it's my favorite subject and all." 

Her nose wrinkles, the laughs she gives sounds more genuine with the little soft snort she gives. "I have to ask! I know not everyone knows at this age. I didn't." Ponyboy gives a cautious smile back. "It's not a bad thing to not know yet, or be unsure."

A moment of silence, genuine silence settles over them.

"Well, I believe we're finished here," Veronica finally says, easing the tension, "Could you ask Sodapop to come in?" 

Trying not to let his surprise show, Ponyboy nods, pushing from the table. "Yes, ma'am." 

Soda looks like a deer in the headlights for a moment, sitting in their bed, Darry beside him just as nervous. Ponyboy wants nothing more in that moment to hug them both, and he puts on his bravest face. "She wants to talk to you, Soda. In the kitchen." 

Soda takes a deep breath, gets up. Ponyboy watches him go down the hall. Finally, he takes a seat next to Darry. 

He can tell Darry wants to ask what went on, he wants to help out. Ponyboy doesn't talk; he leans on his older brother's shoulder instead, to give him comfort instead. Darry's head falls on his, and Ponyboy pulls him into a hug. They clutch at each other like they had in the hospital, and Ponyboy swears, again, that they won't fight anymore. The thought of separation is too great, and he knows better now, that Darry could _never_ really hate him — and he couldn't either. 

He remembers, too, what Darry had said. That he thought he'd lost Ponyboy like they'd lost their parents. Regret, love, wells up in him, and he holds on even tighter to Darry than before.

They don't hold on for too long, and they don't try to speak much as the day drags on. It's the same when Veronica has Soda ask for Darry — he and Soda simply end up smoking the same cigarette, blowing the smoke out of their open window. 

Then, the door shuts, and Veronica is gone. 

Relief floods Ponyboy, slumping onto Soda, who leans back against their bed. They both can hear Darry slump onto the chair in the living room, and Ponyboy hopes that's the last they'll see of the social worker for now. 

The urge to apologize wells up in him, this being _all his fault_. That flushed, warm feeling invades him again. 

"You okay, honey?" Soda's hand presses against Ponyboy's forehead. His fingers feel a little cool against his skin, and there's worry in Soda's voice. 

"Just don't feel so hot with that case worker," Ponyboy mumbles out, and Soda's hand moves from his forehead. His arm wraps around Ponyboy's shoulders in a tight squeeze. He presses a kiss to Pony's hair that feels as sweet as it'll get. 

"Don't worry. you're not gonna get taken from us, I promise," his voice is stronger than Pony's ever could be in this situation. 

He doesn't know for sure. Ponyboy decides to believe him anyway. 

They make their way out of the room. It feels like a piece of tension has finally been cut now that the social worker has come and gone. They're allowed to get the living room a little dirty, allowed to relax around each other. Lunch has Soda out the door to the DX and Darry heads out to get more groceries. The flush seems to have left Ponyboy, allowing him to try and finish up the homework left by Two-Bit. 

Except, he gets bored with it quickly; doodling has more interest to him than doing the homework. He knows he should turn his attention to it, should concentrate. The last thing he should be doing now is lousing up his grades, with so many eyes on him, with so much at stake now. 

And yet, when the door slams open and Dallas barks out, "Anyone home?" Ponyboy almost leaps at the opportunity to use Dallas as an excuse to not do his work. 

"In here!" he looks up as Dallas walks in, a cigarette between his grinning lips. His hair looks a bit windswept, and every inch of him reads like all he wants to do is get into trouble. 

Ponyboy knows better. He knows that he shouldn't grin back, and he does anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! see you guys next month. as always, love comments, kudos, and you can always holler at me on tumblr, i'm @madeleinepryor.


	6. fighting fire with flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She came by already, huh?" Dallas leans back at the table, watching Ponyboy put the pan on the stove top. His hair is still windswept, in need of a haircut, and he taps his heel on the tile as he turns over what Ponyboy has just told him. "That's real fucking quick."

He's not sure what Dallas is thinking as he listens. Ponyboy glances over every so often, not wanting to miss it on Dallas' face. As stormy as he could look while angry, when he was thinking there was always something interesting. Either Ponyboy didn't know what he was thinking at all or he knew exactly what conclusion Dallas was coming to, with no inbetween at all. 

This is one of those times, where he doesn't know. 

When the grilled cheese sandwiches are done and the soup is hot enough, they split it between them. Dallas dips his into the soup, Ponyboy content with just the sandwiches as it was. Dallas still hasn't given his thoughts on the entire thing, when Ponyboy pipes up with, "She didn't ask about Johnny in particular. Thought that was kind of odd."

Dallas grunts, swallowing a larger chunk of the grilled cheese than what Ponyboy thought was comfortable. He flicks his crumbs deliberately at Ponyboy just to mess with him, and Ponyboy scowls. "Probably cause he's Two-Bit's problem now."

"What?" 

"No one told you yet?" Dallas looks surprised, breaking off another piece of the grilled cheese. "Glory kid, thought your brothers told you. Two-Bit and his momma are taking him in." Ponyboy's eyebrows launch right up and he almost chokes on his bite of his sandwich. "That cunt mother of his didn't even put up a fight when he told her." 

Quick, Ponyboy has to take a drink of water to process what he'd been told. Surprise, relief, and sheer joy seem to be hitting him all at once. His time at the hospital with Johnny hadn't been very long at all; he was always tired, trying to maneuver his way around minimally, still foggy from the drugs that he hadn't told. Or hadn't been able to. Now though…

A grin splits Ponyboy's face as he puts the water down, wiping at his mouth. "Nothing? Not at all?" The memory of Johnny begging Dallas otherwise in the car is still there, still fresh. He thought he understood how hurt Johnny would be, how much he hated the fact that his parents didn't care. 

At the same time… Two-Bit's mom worked hard even if she wasn't always home. Their house was quiet, Katie was a good kid, and Two-Bit was pals, had even defended Johnny against his mother. Something about it made sense, and Ponyboy felt excited now, happy, the first real piece of unequivocally good news he'd heard in some time. 

Dallas sneers the way he always does, cynical and with bite. To anyone else it'd be intimidating or ugly, and to Ponyboy, it's just the way he expresses himself, the way he had to communicate at the baseline. He's not sure when he began to think like that, when Dallas had started truly becoming a buddy to him, and well. He likes it. "Fuck no, you kidding me? She was probably grateful someone else did it. Point is, Johnny'll be with people who give a fuck about him." 

Ponyboy laughs at how frank it is, and Dallas' sneer morphs into a more pointed, sharp toothed grin. Things weren't really perfect — there were still so many things looming above them, so many things that could go wrong, so many things that Ponyboy still felt unsure about, yet that sharp toothed grin, the news that Dallas delivers makes Ponyboy feel more hope for Johnny than he's felt in some time. 

As they finish up, he considers asking to go out with Dallas, finding some kind of fun outside of the house elsewhere. Except that feeling comes back again, the one he had at Buck's. That Dallas was here, that he didn't want to really leave the house, now that Dallas was here. 

It was strange, and sudden, and still Ponyboy says, "You wanna watch some TV? I know you ain't gonna help with homework."

Dallas laughs in reply, throwing himself on the couch. "Shit, yeah. I don't have anything else to do." 

Ponyboy sits on the opposite side of the couch, his legs drawn up. He leans his head back, and the rest of the day is easy between them. There's not much on, and as the programs go on, they talk on and off about it. Some of it about the commercials or the shows themselves. Sometimes, he wants to talk about more, about Windrixville, about Johnny at Two-Bit's. 

However, as the day wound on, the comfortable feeling he'd been having with Dallas just simply settles in. There's no urge to get up and do anything more than to be with Dallas, talking on and off. No urge to get into trouble or to do more. There's just comfort, and as the sun begins to sink, Ponyboy's eyes droop. 

Dallas' voice says something he can't quite make out, and then he's out. There are no nightmares, no dreams. He simply falls asleep, warm and comfortable with Dallas beside him. 

At least, he'd fallen asleep beside him. As he stirs to wakefulness, the sound of the door banging in his ears, Ponyboy realizes that he's tucked against Dallas' side on the couch. The television is still on, still playing, and Dallas has half an arm draped around him. In the dim light of the living room, Ponyboy holds his breath, watching him. His head is turned away, his hair reaching down past his eyebrows, almost to his eyelashes that are downward, pressed against his cheek. He's half awake, Ponyboy only able to see the corners of his mouth. 

The feeling of his hand, warm and almost clutching his shoulder seems almost heavy. Ponyboy isn't sure if he wants Dallas to stay like this or not. There's a wish in a fleeting thought, for him to have pen and paper, to sketch out the way Dallas looks like this, from the sweeping of his hair to the elegance of his neck, the curve of his slightly pointed ears.

He does know that he feels comfortable in the same way he had at Buck's, days ago. Just like then, Ponyboy doesn't know how or where that feeling of comfort comes from. Nor does he want to let it go. 

Warmth tinges his ears, and he settles more comfortably besides Dallas' side. He shuts his eyes again, and falls back asleep, willing to let the comfortableness wash over him, to keep it in this small moment, even if he still couldn't understand how or why it came from. 

Hours later, he wakes up on the couch, and Dallas is gone. It's like a shock of cold water to realize it as he sits up, rubbing at his eyes. The television is off, the house dark. As he looks around for Dallas, tries to catch his scent, the shock works its way through him, of Dallas being gone, and Ponyboy alone. 

It makes no logical sense, and yet, it takes hours to shake off the thought that Ponyboy wanted Dallas back, wanted his warmth and his company.

When had he started wanting that, from of all people, Dallas?

The thought distracts him the rest of the night, runs around his head, until Soda finally comes home after work, and they both drift back to sleep together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading this! please comment, kudos, come holler at me on tumblr @madeleinepryor! an early update for you all.


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